Don't Panic
by shattered petal
Summary: His loss of appetite and fatigue can be explained by her unusual behaviour. Miles finds himself in a little bit of a shock. -Miles/Olivier /republished


**(this was published on another account, and has been republished on this one by the same author.)**

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><p><strong>Title<strong>: Don't Panic  
><strong>Couple<strong>: Miles/Olivier  
><strong>Genres<strong>: Humour  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T

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><p>Dinner tasted worse than yesterday, but <em>anything<em> would taste delicious as the hunger the officers felt was excruciating. Well, for the majority of officers anyway. Some had completely lost their appetite due to their swelling emotions, but there were only _a few_. Anybody who felt _any_ form of _emotion_ here would be thrown out into the below-freezing temperature outside and be laughed at.

_If you feel any emotions here than you die_ was a rather miserable joke that was tossed around Fort Briggs whenever they weren't being overheard by their commanding officer, who'd probably punish them with a broken neck without any remorse at all.

The coffee – dear god, _the coffee _– was revolting, and there were more mugs untouched than touched in the so-called "dining area" – a name for the room that seemed so unfitting. If anything, the men scoffed down the majority of their dinner and left the rest mashed up on the table and floor to be cleaned up by the washing fairy.

'Are you going to eat that?'

Miles turned his head towards his companion, who was eyeing his food hungrily. His plate had been empty in seconds, and he was, apparently, still starving. The half-blooded Ishvalan sighed and willingly gave Scar his food. He was more than happy to stuff it into his mouth, giving his poor stomach mercy.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve once he was finished, 'You haven't eaten anything.'

To be honest, Miles didn't really have much to say about that. It was true that he hadn't been eating properly for a few days, but he had his reasons. They were reasons he didn't really want to talk about, save for a sword in the gut.

'Just concerned, that's all,' he responded, trailing his finger across the table. He slammed his hand against the furniture, 'Right. I'm on duty again.'

Scar didn't push the subject any further, and allowed his companion to leave the table and continue his "duty". The half-blooded Ishvalan fell onto the door and pushed it open, fatigue beginning to hit his body. Not only had he lost his appetite, but he could barely sleep.

It wasn't _unusual_ for her to be in a mood, and it wasn't unusual for her to stab whatever object lay in her way just for casual pleasure. However Miles' concern had reached its limit when she began to act. . . well, not as contained as usual. Unlike his, her appetite had grown larger each day, and there had only be one fool who had inquired why she was eating so much lately. He was never seen again.

Not only that, she looked _dreadful_. Naturally she had a pale face, but the black rings under her eyes just emphasised how pale she was _now_. She seemed to have trouble keeping her eyes open from lack of sleep, and he had every now and again witnessed her leaving the restroom* more times than average.

Something was up, and he dare not ask.

Over the past several months the two had become firmer friends – _well_, at least that was what he liked to call them, and beforehand he had known her better than anyone. He was someone she could talk to, although it was very, _very_ rare for her to actually speak about anything personal to anybody in general, and he would quite happily give advice in return. But what was happening now she never spoke about. She didn't even give a _hint_.

Mind, she was _awful_ when it came to speaking up about her health. She kept quiet about her well being, which, in all honestly, annoyed him somewhat. Obviously something was up.

Or was she simply blanking him out? Was she _that_ immature? He thought she was the most mature woman he had ever encountered, save for the joys of splitting bodies in half. He hadn't done anything offensive. . . or had he? Miles chewed on his lower lip.

Friends. Maybe he was acting a little naïve. They had done some "acts" which "friends" were not allegedly supposed to do. It hadn't been much of a big deal. Just a "spur of the moment" sort of thing, and, to give him credit, it was hard to judge what she was going to do next.

He didn't not like it. Quite the contrary. But, to him, that's irrelevant.

To say he liked her would be incorrect. She was incredibly tricky, and she wasn't the type of girl you would have a crush on. She was the type you would just instantly worship or hate. Miles was still trying to come to terms with himself on his feelings about her. Before any sort of precarious "bonding" had occurred between them, he would only occasionally think about her. But she was irritatingly good at getting what she wanted. It was like she had stolen his mind and put it onto some sort of autopilot that only thought about her, and her only.

The amount of times his colleagues had clicked fingers in his face, or clapped hands in front of him, or nudged him, or yelled his name to help him escape imaginary land had been embarrassing. He felt pathetic to be thinking about her this much, and now she was hardly giving him any communication it actually _hurt_. He had always wanted to be some sort of friend to her, and he didn't want it to be tossed into the bin.

But if she honestly did want him out of the way, he would have been gone by now.

It was late afternoon when he had plucked up the courage to confront her. She had retired early, and not many officers seemed to act bewildered by the fact she was going to bed early. Over the years though their minds slowly had grown old and tired and the only thing that came to mind was guns and blood. Briggs was so much fun.

He almost threw up from being so nervous. He _hated_ this. There had been some times when he had been pressured into knocking onto Miss Armstrong's private door in the evening asking for something, and he was surprised he was still alive. He remembered a rumour, that still flew around today, about a young officer who had dared himself to do the same thing. He was found the next morning in two pieces. That rumour started _years_ ago, even before he had joined the military, so he had his doubts.

She didn't respond to his knock. Obviously she did not want to speak with anyone. He cleared his throat and tried his voice, 'Ma'am, it's Major Miles.'

There was the sound of an object falling_, _and then footsteps. The door opened just a peek, 'What's wrong?' he could only see her left eye through the small gap. Her voice sounded like ice.

'I've. . .' he had to think of a reason to arrive with no warning. Should he tell the truth? What would she think if she realised that one of her underlings had been _concerned_ for her? He could already imagine the door slamming in his face, '. . . Have you been okay recently? I've noticed. . .'

Her eye squinted, 'What?'

'Are you okay?' he said shortly, biting his lower lip.

She hesitated, her eye lowering down his frame and then back up to his face again. She removed herself from his sight, but left the door ajar for him to enter if he really wished. He carefully pushed it further, keeping his ears out just in case he could hear the sound of a sword being unsheathed.

Apparently she wasn't going to hurt him. He stepped further inside. She was obviously preparing to step into bed as the side light was only left on, and she was. . . he smiled sheepishly to find she was only dressed in a dressing gown and pyjama trousers. In fact it was quite _something_ to see Olivier like _this_.

'Are you o–?'

'Sit down.' Her voice made him flinch. It was so cold and hard it could break brick. He glanced away from her eyes that surprisingly were not shooting lasers at him, and obeyed, sitting down onto the nearest chair.

Olivier's hands were held tightly onto the partings of her gown. She eyed him suspiciously, as if expecting _him_ to lash out. His palms felt sweaty, and he rubbed them down his trousers. The tension in the room was torture. He remained frozen when she stepped towards him, her socked feet not making a sound against the cold floor.

Now she was looking down at him. He found it hard to meet her gaze and kept his eyes onto the wall over her shoulder. She seemed to notice and forced his head to look at her.

'Open my gown.'

His eyes widened, 'M-Miss–'

'Oh for god's sake,' she rolled her eyes, 'I need to show you something.'

'Um. You, uh–'

'It's nothing you haven't seen before.'

The way she said it made him have to force down a smirk. You would have to be a real gem to actually share the same bed as her every once in a while. She stepped back a bit, allowing him to open the gown, but he was hesitant. What was going to happen? Was she letting him see her in all the glory once more, before his head would be chopped off?

He realised he needed to think of a reason _why_ she would do that.

'Hurry up please.'

He had said 'yes ma'am,' after he had opened the partings. And what he saw made his eyes widen and almost burst out of their sockets. It was almost like sparkles had escaped her body once he saw what she had been hiding for these past months. He wasn't so sure how to respond. The evidence wasn't huge, but it was certainly _there_.

And just like that, everything made perfect sense.

'Oh my God.'

That swelled stomach was not fake surely.

The General was pregnant.

'Oh my. . .' with _his_ kid, 'God.'

He glanced up at her rather casual looking expression.

'Is this real?'

The slap was deserved he assumed. Then it hit him harder again.

_Olivier Armstrong_ was _pregnant_.

And _he_ was going to be a _daddy_.

'Shit.'

'That's kind of what I was hoping to hear on the first take,' her voice was hard to read. She didn't sound at all upset or disappointed. But she didn't even sound happy.

He was still holding onto the partings of the gown, and he just found it unbelievable. The laugh could not be held back. It was just shock that he felt. Which then evolved into panic, and then, for good, it was just happiness.

Miles finally released the gown and she tied it up, exhaling. He stood to his feet and wrapped his arms around her. It didn't take long for her to start snarling at him like some rabid animal. She wasn't amused as he was.

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' he said, releasing her, 'But. . . you don't sound pleased about it?'

'Oh forgive me for not _leaping_ in joy.'

'You're going to keep it?'

She rolled her eyes back, 'Can't really get rid of it, can I?'

'How long?'

'What?'

'How long has it been?'

She didn't reply. She was just staring at him. Miles clenched and unclenched his fists, wondering if he had done or said something wrong. What did she want him to act like?

'Do you have _any_ idea what problems this shall cause?' she was angry. Her tone had lost its unemotional, steely tone. In replacement was, well, just anger really. It wasn't very pleasant to see her in such a mood either. She was scary enough when she was _calm_, never mind angry.

'We can figure out, I'm sure, ma'am.'

'We don't _really_ have a choice, do we?' there was now a hint of sarcasm.

'It'll be fine.'

She slowly closed her eyes, 'Thanks for the comforting words, Major.'

He was so giddy he even felt like teasing her with a "you're welcome", but had the common sense to back away from those words. She was already pissed off, and just giving out more bait would end up with the child being born having a father with artificial limbs.

How exciting!

'I'm really happy about this.'

'That's lovely,' she didn't sound very enthusiastic, 'But I was actually hoping you would actually come up with some good advice on how to deal with this, instead of squealing like a child that's just been given a lolly pop.'

'. . . I'm sorry. It just makes me so happy.'

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, 'Jesus.'

He couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He had never felt so happy in his life. Just the thought of having a child in just a few months sent him over the edge. He even had the energy to scream it through Fort Briggs. Wow, the wide eyes and open mouths when he was to reveal he was having a child with Olivier Armstrong.

And he wasn't even imagining it.

When he glanced back at her expression again his heart jilted. There was nothing in her expression. She just stared at him – almost helplessly.

Was she actually _panicking_?

'It'll be fine, miss. I'll be more than happy to help you through it, and I'm sure Shelly downstairs has some advice you could take in. It'll be fine–'

'If you tell me it'll be fine one more time, I will murder you.'

'Sorry, ma'am. . . does anyone else know?'

'God no,' she replied, 'Who on earth would I tell this to anyway? This is a disaster.'

'No it's not, ma'am.'

'Yes it is.'

'No it's not.'

'Yes it is.'

'Yes it is.'

'No it's not– wait, wow does this annoying trait of yours just come naturally?'

He chuckled, 'I'm only trying to help, ma'am.'

Her shoulders slumped and she gave in. It was obvious that Miles was not going to admit this situation was a "disaster" – _ever_. His smile just proved otherwise. She peered around her shoulder and was surprised to see he was _still_ smiling. She wiped a hand down her face.

'Yes, Miles, I know.'

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><p><strong>author's note<strong>: This was hard to write, but kinda enjoyable. It's tricky with these two, as you don't get a lot out of their relationship in the manga or anime, but on wikipedia it does say that Miles knows her the most, so I guess they're friends (?) in a way. I really apologise if they were OOC, but I tried my best ^^;

*Restroom is another word for, say, the toilets :P


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